


0:01:00:00

by builtfromthesamedirt



Series: t minus... [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Angst, Awkward..., Confessions, Crushes, Friendship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Love Confessions, M/M, Mark Fischbach Needs a Hug, Mark Fischbach-centric, Maybe - Freeform, Nervousness, Rejection, Sad, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, a lil, my eyes r so dry from looking at laptop all day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27952553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/builtfromthesamedirt/pseuds/builtfromthesamedirt
Summary: there's almost an hour left of unus annus, and mark has something to say.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Series: t minus... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097708
Comments: 12
Kudos: 76





	0:01:00:00

**Author's Note:**

> this concept has been on my mind since ua died but like usually in a nice, friends to lovers type way. sorry this isn't that. if y'all want tho, i can come back and do that. i live to serve B) (edit: [it's out :)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496367))  
> also i know the timeline is wrong don't kill me lmao  
> this fic is dedicated to my ua beanie that is sitting at my school bc it came a month early :,) i'll see u soon  
> reminder that this is a work of fiction and nothing else don't repost or send to ccs! if this makes any mentioned ccs uncomfy it will be deleted!  
> feel free to leave kudos/comments! both r greatly appreciated!! :)

They stare blankly ahead at the wall before them, elbows resting on the arms of their respective chairs. He could feel the tears drying on his face, and a quick glance at Ethan told him that his were still fresh. He sniffles a bit, the silence breaking but no one acknowledging it. The rest of the crew had stepped out for a second to grab some water or something and turned the camera off for a minute so they could recoup their emotions before resuming the livestream, so for the moment, it's just him, Ethan, the coffin, and the air still heavy from the weight of their fake eulogies.

The silence was starting to choke them. Mark can feel his face contorting because of it. He wants to joke about the moment through some spiel said in that profound, quasi-philosophical tone he's used throughout the past year - something about being able to feel the fingers of death finally wrapping around his throat - but he can't bring himself to say anything. Something, he realizes, is stealing the words before they can even reach his lips, and he's not sure what exactly that "something" is. Ethan begins to drum his fingers on the arm of his black armchair, drawing his attention across the room. He finds his answer in the way his eyes linger for just a bit too long on Ethan's face, wrung with emotion.

God, _Ethan_.

This wasn't a new thing for Mark. He'd picked up on the shift in his view of his friend a while ago, around the time they filmed the Hooked on Phonics video, of all videos. It almost pained him how cheesy his realization of feelings was: the butterflies, the blushing, the going to bed every night thinking about his best friend and nothing else. Suddenly, he struggled to take his eyes off of Ethan while they were filming and stressed over whether he was sitting too close to the other man when they weren't. He felt screwed over, yet even the thought of getting to spend time with Ethan made him giddy like he was a high schooler. He felt himself fall a bit deeper for him every time he laughed at his own stupid joke or smiled at him or did just about anything. Mark was in deep - too deep, he could argue.

He looked at the clock between them. 0:01:17:36. (35...34...33..) He feels a tug in his chest, and before he can even think about it, he's calling out the other man's name. 

Ethan looks at him and cocks his head. "What's up?" His voice is still a bit shaky from crying, but it makes Mark gulp down the panic rising in his throat nonetheless. 

"I, uh... I need to... say something." Mark shakes his head, regretting this already. "Y'know, since... since we're putting it all out there." He can't believe he's really doing this. His shoulders are already tense as if they're bracing for impact. 

"Yeah? What is it?" Ethan's eyes are wide and inviting, and Mark wants to scream. 

"I..." A deep breath. "Since we've started this whole... thing, I've really realized how much I really appreciate you." Ethan opens his mouth, likely to return the sentiment, but Mark keeps going. He can't possibly stop now. "But there was a point where that kind of... shifted, I guess? Ethan, I... over the past few months, I've..." 

The words are escaping him again. Ethan's eyebrows furrow as Mark fights to find the way to spit out the feelings that have been plaguing him for months. The mental floodgates burst as Ethan, quiet as if he's afraid of disrupting whatever energy is flowing between them, asks, "You what, Mark?"

"I think I'm in love with you!" Mark blurts. His chest hurts like those seven words had ripped all of the oxygen out of his lungs. 

Ethan blinks once, twice. "Oh," he says, quieter. He's clearly searching for a way to respond without hurting his feelings, but his silence has communicated to Mark all that needs to be said: Ethan doesn't love him back. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. 

"Don't be," comes the soft response. 

They leave it at that. After all, Mark figures, what else is there to say? He can only barely hear the door of the studio close with the crew's return and Evan calling out that the camera would be turning back on over the cacophony of the spiral of thoughts in his head. Ethan cracks a joke about how Evan was so slow and they almost missed the start of the final hour, and Mark wonders how he can even manage that. Another quick glance, however, reveals his face, showing a sliver of discomfort. The thoughts scream a bit louder at the prospect that Mark's made Ethan uncomfortable. 

Evan notes his silence. Mark deadpans about the rhythm of the ticking clock. Evan gets the clue and turns on the effect. Mark leans his head back like he's pretending to bask in the sound he's grown so accustomed to over the year like a lizard. He sighs and says with a faux nostalgia, "I'm gonna miss that sound." In reality, he's trying not to cry. Ethan laughing at what he assumes are antics makes it significantly harder. 

He isn't completely lying. Mark knows he'll miss Unus Annus dearly. Not having to film for it all the time was going to hurt. All the texts and calls, especially from Ethan, would definitely decrease in frequency, and with the royal fuck-up he just committed, he wouldn't be surprised if they stopped altogether. Mark wouldn't blame him if Ethan decided to never talk to him again, as much as it absolutely felt like a stab to the gut. 

Ethan tells him to look at the clock. He does as he's told, watching the seconds tick away until it hits 0:01:00:00. The final hour.

If tears are pointed out on Mark's face, he blames it on the channel dying. 

And if he leaves the studio the second after they click the 'delete' button on the channel's settings, he blames it on exhaustion. 

He doesn't have to blame it on anything when he cries alone in his room that night over the loss of his best friend.


End file.
